


Uncut Roses

by Sashataakheru



Category: The Chaser RPS
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, choosing not to reveal pairing, futuristic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is pining for his love in a world between madness and reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncut Roses

**Author's Note:**

> First two paragraphs were written by [splitting_minds](http://splitting-minds.livejournal.com/). I wrote this story continuing on from those opening paragraphs.
> 
> Includes flashbacks not necessarily in chronological order.

_Nothing. There was nothing in the world. It was empty and bleak, bereft of colour, magic or charm. Until he came in. Once he came in, the words fell off his pages, sky was blue, the grass was green. Every goddamn corny lovey-dovey thing you could say came true. It didn't matter that they were drunk. It didn't matter that he had places to go, people to see. It didn't matter that he was married, that he had somebody to iron his clothes, heat up his meals and hold his hand. It never mattered, it wouldn't matter._

_Until one day when reality hit and he never came out of that house again._

* * *

Chris wakes with a start, breathing hard, wide eyes darting into the night, the light and shadows playing across the walls nothing more than a delusion of life as cars slither past. He's calling again, though from where Chris doesn't know. He really should get some help with these dreams. He doesn't like being kept awake by his mournful cries for help. Sometimes Chris hated his mind and the way it still longs for him all this time later.

With a sigh, Chris slides out of bed, turning the bedside lamp on. He checks the time. Just after 4am. He has to be up in a couple of hours' time. Is there any point in going back to bed? Maybe. Once he's documented this latest nightmare.

Chris pads into the kitchen and flicks the kettle on. He makes tea, his mind on other things. He'd sounded more desperate tonight, his urging pleas for help still vivid in his mind. Why does his mind do this? Doesn't it realise he's never coming back?

"Why would he want to come back anyway? There's nothing left for him now, nothing except me. I'm the last one. I'm always the last. Last to meet him, last to see him, last to love him, last to still remember him," Chris says with a sigh as he wanders back to the couch, slumping down into it as he wraps the blanket around him. He reaches over and grabs his laptop, resting it on his knees as it powers up.

Chris slips his tea as it boots, watching the screen light up the semi-dark room. He clicks on a small icon on his desktop, logs in, and starts typing, taking the nightmare from his mind and turning it into narrative. He calls again, just like before, still desperate and pleading, still more alive than ever, and Chris pauses, forcing the pain away before he continues.

* * *

The sun's rising by the time Chris finishes typing, having poured everything out of his mind and into his laptop. There's a pile of scrunched up tissues beside the empty mug, the now-finished tissue box thrown aside. Chris saves his work and shuts it down, setting I back on the coffee table where it was before. With a heavy sigh, Chris rubs his face, getting rid of the last vestiges of sleepiness that remain. He should get up.

Wearily, Chris gets to his feet and wanders over to the bathroom, pondering the merits of showering. He decides against it, instead splashing his face with cold water instead. He straightens, peering at his tired reflection. He really hadn't been sleeping well since he, you know, didn't come back. He glances down at the basin, his eyes drawn to the ring sitting on the edge. He picks up the gold band by sliding it on his finger, looking at it briefly before closing his hand tightly around it, fighting back his tears again.

After all this time, it still hurts.

Chris falls to his knees, cursing his still pathetic grief after all this time. He curls up into himself, still clutching the ring, the echo of his voice crying out to him for help again, as unbidden as the emotion battling through his heart again.

* * *

_"Will you come?" The voice was soft and panicked, reaching out from the phone line._

_Chris inhaled sharply. "I always come."_

_"Please, hurry, they're coming for me." More panic. Anger. Fear. Paranoia._

_"Stay where you are. I'm coming," Chris replied, hoping to reach him in time._

_The phone line clicked dead before he could answer, and Chris wasn't sure if panicking was enough._

* * *

Chris wanders the streets the following evening, lost in thought. He's unaware of where he's going, just that he's moving. It's only at the intense chill hitting him out of nowhere that he realises where he is. His place. His house. Hell, his _home_. It's empty and dark now. The paint's peeling away from the walls and the door, cracks taking over. Whatever life was left here is long gone. Those he left behind moved away a long time ago, unable to stay around.

"Everyone left. They all fucking ran away. All except me. I was too scared to leave," Chris murmurs into the twilight. "Maybe if I had, he wouldn't still be tormenting me now."

Chris rests a hand on the gate, contemplating going inside. The air is still and silent. Chris remembers when this was once a vibrant neighbourhood. Now, everyone's gone, leaving behind empty houses and anything they couldn't take with them.

An angry gust of wind pushes Chris away from the house. Chris gets the message. He backs away into the empty silent road, looking at the house one last time before leaving. The spirits warn only once before they attack. If you're foolish enough to ignore their warning, you deserve to be taken.

Chris hurries alone past the empty rusting shells of cars and buildings back towards one of the only safe places left where he managed to hide away before everything all went to hell. Chris sometimes thinks there should be guards stationed at the perimeter of the wire fence separating them from the barren wasteland of suburbia, but why bother when there's nothing out there? There's nothing but restless spirits looking for lost souls.

* * *

Chris hurries back to his house, managing to get back just as darkness falls. He shuts the door and leans against it, catching his breath. He's calling again, louder, desperate, fuck, he's… weeping.

Chris clutches his head, falls to the floor, tries to block out the screaming. All alone in his little house, no one hears him crying.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" Chris gasps, curling up into himself, trying to block out the pain from his screaming. He's being hurt again, Chris knows it. He always does this when he's being hurt again.

The wind picks up out of nowhere, blasting the houses. Chris' house begins to creak and groan, and Chris curls up even tighter, wondering if this means he'll be taken tonight, or if he's done enough to placate these restless creatures.

His house is plunged into darkness. The wind bursts inside, blowing open windows and doors. The wind shrieks, moans and cries, flying all around the room, creating a terrible noise. All Chris can do is hide his head, curl up and hope they leave him alone.

A strike to the back of the head and Chris blacks out to the sound of shrieking all around him.

* * *

_It was always sunset. It was safest then, even if it was on the cusp of danger, but then, he was always a risk-taker._

_Chris kissed him again, slowly, but something was different._

_He pulled away, staring at him in shock._

_"Chris, oh God, I'm sorry-"_

_He left, ran away._

_That was the final sunset._


	2. A Vulnerable Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris wakes up somewhere else and gets more questions than answers.

_Chris lay awake in bed, cradled in his arms. He was asleep. Chris wasn't, unable to sleep in the intense summer heat._

_"Of all the people I had to fall in love with, why did it have to be you?" Chris whispered into the darkness._

_He got no reply. Chris squeezed his hand tightly, bringing it up to kiss the back of it lightly, wondering if he'd ever get to sleep._

* * *

Chris wakes groggily, eerie white noise all around him. His body is achingly stiff and sore. He struggles to his feet, unable to open his eyes fully to take in his surroundings. The air's hot and dry. The ground appears to be nothing but dirt, but it's hot. Slowly, the white noise begins to change and Chris swears he can make out words, or at least noises that could be words. Is he calling again? He can't tell. He rubs his eyes, forcing them to open properly.

"What the-?"

There's rock all around him, as if he's in a cave passage. It's almost completely dark except for the noise and the dim light emanating from the end of the passage way. He looks behind him, but sees nothing but utter blackness. Clearly, the spirits don't want him escaping. A forceful blast of hot wind from behind him moves Chris closer to the light.

"Alright, alright, I get the idea," Chris mutters as he walks forward.

The light and the noise become louder as he gets closer and soon the noise becomes identifiable as people talking, although their words are still indistinguishable. Chris stops in a large doorway, seemingly without a door. He gazes across all the people crammed into the room, some standing, some sitting, some bound, some unbound, people of all kinds. Gazing upon their despondent faces, his eyes are drawn to- him. Chris inhales sharply as he looks desperately up at him. He's kneeling on the ground, bound tightly with rope, gagged with a white cloth, battered and bruised.

Chris wants to run to him but he finds himself paralysed. "Oh, God, what have you done to him?" he whispers.

The place falls silent at his words, as if they're all suddenly paying intense attention to every word he says. Everyone turns to look at him, blank expressions on their faces. Only one person leaves the crowd to approach Chris. An androgynous figure, they say nothing but gesture Chris forward, half-manic look on their face.

"You want me to follow you?" Chris says, not sure what else to do.

The figure nods slowly, closing their eyes, gesturing to Chris again. Nodding dumbly, Chris follows, losing sight of him in the crowds of people.

* * *

_Chris pulled him inside his house, out of the cold. They stood there, together, arms around each other. He seemed grateful for Chris' company._

_"Why can't we stay like this forever?" Chris murmured against his shoulder._

_"I have… other commitments," he had said evasively, distracted by the gold band on his finger, reminding him that this was not where he was supposed to be._

_"So why did you come home with me in the first place?" Chris said._

_"I thought you were different."_

_Chris went to question him but he pulled away, leaving Chris wondering what was wrong. He anxiously twisted the ring on his finger as he looked at him sheepishly, hoping Chris understood what he knew he couldn't articulate._

* * *

Chris is led into another cavern, this one more formal. There's torches of fire on each side, leading up to a throne carved from stone, accented with select jewels, but otherwise rather plain. The centre of the room is tiled with white tiles, a deep green border separating it from the dirt common to the rest of the place. As soon as Chris touches the tiles, the figure vanishes. Chris looks around, wondering what's going on. The wind spirits pick up, flying past him towards the end of the room.

'Forward! _Forward!_ Come to us, child!'

The wind carries the words clear as day, and Chris obeys, walking cautiously down the tiles towards the throne. The wind encourages him, blowing all around him and propelling him forward.

'Kneel!'

The wind pushes him down onto his knees. Chris doesn't like the power of the wind to make him do what he doesn't want to do. He clutches his hands tightly in his lap, unsure what they're going to do to him.

"Um, hello?"

'_Silence!_'

The wind hisses at him, insisting on its will being obeyed.

'He has called for you since we claimed him. But we are not benevolent creatures. He was disloyal to his mate, and you encouraged him. All these things will weigh against your judgement.'

"Judgement? What judgement? Am I dead?"

'It is not for us to answer you. You will take our words as they are given.'

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

'He will never be yours as long as you live, and your longing for him binds him here. Let go and he will be free.'

"Let him go? But-but no one escapes once they've been taken."

A second voice answers him, full of spite and anger.

'Silly foolish human mind. It tries to understand what it is incapable of conceiving. Let it be troubled a bit longer. It isn't ready for the trials yet. To the dungeons with you. Only when you are ready will you be judged. You will never see him again.'

The wind picks up again, swirling all around Chris again, blowing louder and louder with shrieking laughter until Chris finds himself blacking out again.

* * *

Chris wakes to find himself locked in a tiny room, arms chained to the wall behind him. His head aches, nonsense words floating around in his mind.

_He_ calls again.

Chris screams, wanting this to be a very bad nightmare.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

_Only you can save me_, comes the desperate call in his head.

* * *

_His lips were always soft, his kisses always hesitant. He never got used to kissing Chris, not really. Chris found it adorable, and teased him about it playfully, while he stood there and looked bashful, trying to save face._

_One of the few times they fucked, it was slow and gentle, and Chris was careful not to hurt him. Chris would always remember his face after that first time, how he'd lain there wide-eyed and shocked. Chris thought he hadn't enjoyed it, but he reassured him with one of the most passionate kisses Chris would ever receive from him._

_"Why do I only trust you to see me like this?" he had whispered, pulling the doona tight around him, almost ashamed at his nakedness._

_"I don't know, but you look so beautiful when you're vulnerable," Chris had replied, gently caressing the stubble on his chin, gazing at him through tired eyes._

_"I'm not- vulnerable. I'm just-"_

_"Shh. Just sleep," Chris had reassured him with a grin._

_"You'll be the death of me, I swear," he had said with a small laugh. Chris had always loved his laugh._

_Chris smiled at him as he lay beside him, cuddled in his strong arms. Chris rested his head against his chest, breathing in his scent as they fell asleep together._


	3. Broken Plaster Pillars/Blank Halls of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris fights for his sanity and judgement begins.

_"Chris! Chris, are you there?"_

_That familiar voice called again, invading his sleep. Chris moaned, reluctantly opening his eyes. "What?"_

_"Oh, shit, did I wake you?"_

_"Yeah, you fuckin' woke me. Hope you're happy." Chris was never pleasant after being woken up._

_"Oh, I just thought, you know, since it's such a nice day, we might-"_

_"Alright, alright. Come in and make me coffee and I'll think about it."_

* * *

Chris is tired. Every time he wants to sleep, the wind comes and stops him. Chris doesn't know how long he's been down here. It could be hours, days, weeks… There's no way of counting time. He's quite sure if he doesn't sleep soon, he'll go mad.

It's a curious room they're keeping him in. It's small, real small. It appears to have only one door. The walls are jagged and cave-like, just like the rest of this place. The room's dark. The only light comes from the small opening in the doorway, but it's enough for him to take stock of where he is. He's chained to the wall with heavy iron shackles. He can do nothing but sit on the floor and stay awake as long as possible. What else is there to do?

He's surprised he feels no pangs of hunger. Wherever he is, he obviously doesn't need to eat. Is he dead? If he's dead, why does he still need sleep, but not food?

His brain aches for sleep, his vision blacking out all of a second. When he opens his eyes, he sees a shadow against the far wall. He can't work out its shape. It moves slowly towards him, nothing more than blackness with no discernable features apart from two bright shining lights that could be eyes. Chris doesn't speak, not sure what it wants.

The shadow approaches him until it's right up in front of him. Chris can see the 'eyes' narrowing, scrutinising him. It reaches what could be a hand and rests it against his cheek. Chris flinches. It feels … like nothing. The gentlest of gentle breezes would be felt more readily than this.

'You… you must fight. You are strong. They lie to you and blind you. There is a way out, but you must be free first. I can only guide you. The rest is up to you.' The shadow speaks into his mind with a cold raspy voice, but it is the only voice of reason Chris has heard down here.

"You… who are you?" Chris breathes, not sure how loudly he should be speaking.

'I am you, but I am not you. I live in your heart like no one else. I am the only one that knows you completely.'

Chris goes to speak, unsure what to make of this shadow.

'Shh. No sound. No noise. They hear everything. I will return, though I am always with you. Remember: there is always hope.'

With one last scrutinising look, the shadow fades away, leaving Chris shivering with cold.

* * *

_Chris lay on the grass, summer sun beating down on him. There were summer clouds in the sky, wispy and thin. He lay beside him. Their hands found each other, fingers tangling together._

_No one needed to speak. Their hearts were speaking for them._

* * *

The door to his room opens, sending bright light shining inside. Chris is almost blinded and looks away, not sure what's happening.

"Get him. They want to see him again," comes a harsh voice.

Confused and sleep-deprived, he's not sure what happens next. There are large strong hands and loud noise and he's being dragged out of his room and into the bright light. He covers his face with his hands to block out the light, his head aching and his temples pulsing in his skull.

Chris only dares uncover his face when they set him down on the floor and leave him alone. He can hear the wind whispering again. He opens his eyes and finds he's back in the long hall he was in before. The wind picks up, as usual.

'He comes! He comes again! Such traitors in our midst! Surely he will fail judgement!'

The voice screeches at him, such pain and anger in its words. Chris decides answering isn't a good idea and shuts the hell up, waiting to find out what they want from him.

'Your heart! Your heart! Let it speak true for him! Do not lie to us or we will punish you for eternity!'

A second voice carries around him, less harsh than the first.

'Silence, children! Let him speak for himself! He is the one being judged!'

This third voice is loudest, carrying an air of authority that silences the other chattering voices.

'You have been called to answer for your transgressions. You led him from his mate! Our kind do not tolerate such treachery! How do you justify your actions? Choose your words carefully,' the third voice says.

"I fell for him, and he fell for me. I didn't set out to steal him from his mate, it just… happened. But he saw sense and ran back and I… never saw him again," Chris says, not sure what else to tell them.

'_Do you love him?_' The wind screeched its question.

Chris covers his eyes as he fights back his tears. "Yes! Yes, I still love him! I'll always love him. He lives in my heart always. Don't punish him for falling in love with me. Punish me for falling in love with him."

'_Traitor!_' A fourth voice hisses its accusation at him harshly.

'Hush, child, let him speak for himself. You are still loyal to him now? Even after he was taken from you?' The third voice scolds the fourth before continuing it's questioning.

"I am, yes. I don't know why. I can't let go of him," Chris says.

'Even after he rejected you?'

Chris whimpers. The words sting and ache. In spite of his loyalty, _he_ had rejected him and no amount of tears would change that. "Whatever happens, I'll always love him. Even if it means he'll never be mine again."

'He was never yours to begin with. Relinquish him now,' the third voice orders.

"I can't. I've tried, but-" Chris pauses. "I can't. I just can't."

'Then you shall fail.'

The pronouncement matters not to Chris. "It's probably the least I deserve. Just… don't hurt him. I'm the one who should be hurt, not him."

'You would take his place? Just like that?' The fourth voice sounds slightly amused by his offer.

"In a heartbeat. If it meant he suffered no longer, I would take his place," Chris says, surprised at how much he believes what he's saying.

'You are foolish.' The fourth voice is harsh and angry.

'And yet, he speaks true. Is your love for him that strong that you would die for him?' the third asks.

"In a heartbeat," Chris repeats without hesitation.

'His love is pure, Mother, even if his actions were not. Must we punish him?' The second voice interjects.

'His heart sings of his love and nothing else. He is not perfect, none of these humans are. Why must we keep holding them to our own levels of perfection if we know they will always fail?' A fifth voice joins the conversation.

'We were sent to carry out this task, nothing more.' The third is beginning to sound annoyed.

'He is pure. You cannot condemn him. Let him see the one who owns his heart and set them free," the second voice says.

'The Council will retire to consider our verdict. He will be taken back to the dungeons.' The third voice makes it clear the conversation is over.

Chris sighs. He waits for the usual blackout to hit as he's taken back to his room to await his judgement.

* * *

_"Do you think it's true, what they say about soulmates?" Chris mused as he turned the clouds into shapes._

_"What about soulmates?" he said._

_"That you know when you've found them?"_

_"I dunno. Maybe."_

_"Hmm."_

_Chris continued staring at the clouds. He still held his hand. The warm sun made him feel sleepy. He was vaguely aware of a soft kiss on his cheek as he fell asleep in the summer sun, dreaming of him by his side._


	4. Every Shadow Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judgement, trials, and the fear of failure.

_Chris loved him from the first moment he met him, though he didn't have a wedding ring then. It was years before Chris found the strength to confess to him. He cried. He wanted the earth to swallow him._

_"It's driving me crazy. I-I had to tell you b-because I just can't live with it anymore. I love you. I don't know why. It's consuming me from the inside out, and I hate it to death. Make it stop, please-"_

_He stopped him speaking as he grabbed Chris' shoulders and brought him into a hug._

_Chris had to admit it was probably the most he was going to get from him._

_They didn't speak of Chris' confession for months afterwards, neither willing to admit anything for fear of ruining everything. Fear paralyses indiscriminately, and they were both paralysed._

* * *

Chris wakes to someone prodding him hard, finger jabbing into his shoulder. He sees the same shadow kneeling in front of him, finger pressed over his lips to silence him. He's surprised to find he's not chained up this time and wonders what that might mean.

'I will meet you again if you are free. If you are not, I bid thee farewell. May your suffering not last eternity,' the shadow says softly, its voice full of sorrow as if Chris is already dead.

Chris doesn't reply, sensing the gravity of doing so. The shadow narrows its eyes and stands, backing away from him.

'Do not let me down, Christopher. He is relying on you to save him,' the shadow says before fading into nothingness.

Chris swallows. At the mention of him, Chris feels a sudden stab of guilt. He'd forgotten him again. It's his fault all this has happened. The voices had been right. Chris should've stayed away from him and not taken him from his mate. But Chris had always been selfish like that.

The image of him kneeling there looking despondent and miserable floats into his mind again. He can see the tears in his eyes, the bleeding wounds and dark bruises, the rope biting into his flesh, the gag keeping him silent. His eyes are pleading. Chris knows he sees him, recognises him, tries to beg him to rescue him.

Suddenly, the guilt overwhelms him and Chris gags, wanting to be sick. A stab of pain in his stomach makes him curl up on the ground.

'Why did you forget me? Why did you let them hurt me? I hate you, Chris. I hate you!'

His voice hisses inside your mind, making you bury your head in your arms, wishing for this to end.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know how to stop this," Chris whispers.

The wind picks up, roars to life, and Chris huddles into himself, trying not to cry.

* * *

_"You know I'm taken, Chris. I can't be with you. I mean, I'm flattered, but it's not going to happen," he had said one day as you sat on a park bench together, watching the sun set._

_"I know, and it kills me that I've fallen for you. Do you wish I'd never said anything?" Chris said._

_"Some days I do, because then things would be simpler. But then I think of everything we've shared and then I wouldn't want to change it for the world," he said. He took off his glasses then and rubbed his eyes. "I wish I knew how to deal with this."_

_"Having second thoughts?" Chris said._

_"Yes. And no. I don't think I'm sure about anything anymore," he said._

_Chris stared at the ground, kicking at a clump of grass as a distraction. He reached over and took Chris' hand, catching his attention. Chris looked at him, seeing the conflict in his eyes. He always looked younger without his glasses. Chris reached over a gentle hand and pulled him into a kiss just as the sun finished sinking below the horizon._

* * *

Chris wakes to find himself in the hall again, chained and guarded by shadows. He's kneeling at the foot of the throne. It's cold, Chris realises. The shadows guarding him are just like the one that visited him before. Chris looks up to see a figure approach from behind the throne, wearing a flowing white gown. Its gender isn't clear, though it could be female. It has a leash in its hand, and on the end of that leash is him, bloodied, beaten, bruised and clearly in worse condition than when he saw him that first time. He isn't gagged, but he is bound with tight rope that's clearly causing him pain as he walks.

The figure stops in front of the throne, not sitting down. Chris looks up at her – Chris decides it looks like a her now. She looks at him with curious, slanted eyes. Her skin is pale, almost white, her hair silver and shimmering.

"Stop staring. It displeases me," the figure says, speaking aloud with a voice not unlike the wind spirits.

Chris lowers his gaze, embarrassed.

"Stupid human. Do you know why you're here?" the figure says.

"Um, no, not really," Chris says.

"This is judgement. We only take solid form at this time, because you humans don't seem to like dealing with our wind form. It makes you think you're crazy or something. Your brains are rather feeble things," the figure says.

"Well, it is hard to work out what's real and what isn't when all you have to go on is wind and a voice," Chris says.

The figure glares and slaps Chris' face hard. "Such insolence! I did not ask you to speak!"

Chris lowers his head, staring resolutely at his knees. He's learnt his lesson.

"As for your judgement, my sisters and brothers find you pure, though I can't see how. Your guilt stinks. You would renounce him, given enough pain. But their word is final. You shall be freed, and then you shall prove your purity. If you love him as you say you do, you shall have no troubles passing. If you have been lying, your suffering shall be great and, at my hands, shall utterly destroy you!" the figure says, eyes growing angry.

Chris says nothing, not wanting to upset her again. So this isn't over yet. He probably should've realised that. The chains fell off him and the guards left him.

"Rise to your feet, stinking human," the figure commands.

Chris stands, still keeping his gaze averted.

"Go. Get out of my sight. Luck be with you that you do not return to me," the figure says.

Chris looks up, seeing the figure retreating, taking his love with him. When he's alone, Chris turns and walks down the hall again, wondering what on earth he's supposed to do now.

* * *

_The wind blew around Chris' ankles, creeping into his skin as he stood there in his arms, diving into his kiss. Chris was aware he shouldn't have been doing this at all, not outside his house, but he had caught him off guard and kissed him in front of his gate where anyone could've seen them._

_Chris gazed into his eyes as they had one last moment together. He reached back and snapped a rose off the bush closest to the gate and handed it to Chris with a soft smile._

_"Take it. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, unhitching the gate and swinging it open._

_Chris smelled the rose, loving the soft perfume it gave. When he looked up, he was alone, the front door just closing on his retreating figure._

_"Goodbye. Til tomorrow," Chris whispered, clutching the rose to his chest as he finally left and headed home in the darkness._


	5. Blue-Sky  Views

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris fights for his love as best he can. Things don't quite go according to plan.

_He sat there with tired eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept. Chris brought him coffee and sat down on the couch beside him. Neither spoke for some time, too busy watching the cricket on the television, playing quietly as if not to disturb them._

_"You alright?" Chris said._

_"Yeah, I'll be fine," he said._

_"Rough night, huh?" Chris said._

_"Something like that. I'll live," he said._

_Chris sat back and watched him rubbing his eyes, his glasses resting on his knee. His gaze returned to the cricket. "Eighteen runs to win."_

_"Too little, too late," he murmured._

* * *

Chris walks through the passageway, lost for somewhere to go. He figures he'll wander endlessly until some idea pops into his head. He has no idea what to do now. The shadow appears by his side, insidious eyes narrowed at him. The shadow offers a hand and bows slightly.

"Oh, you want me to follow you?" Chris says.

'Indeed,' the shadow murmurs.

Chris takes his hand and lets him lead the way. They wander through dark passageways and caverns until they come to what looks like the mouth of the cave, or a mouth, at any rate. Chris stands at the edge, unsure what to do next. The shadow rests beside him, offering nothing.

'Everything out there will kill you. He is out there too. Keep your wits about you and do not be afraid. You have been judged pure. Use this to your advantage, and do not sully your soul with wicked deeds. I cannot follow you further until sunset. I will try and keep you out of danger. Good luck, Christopher. Do not let me down,' the shadow hisses softly, backing away a step from the entrance.

Chris goes to answer him but finds himself alone. Turning to face the land in front of him again, Chris takes a deep breath and steps out into the sunshine. He raises an arm to shield his eyes from the light as he surveys his surroundings. It's a plain-looking grassland to the untrained eye.

Chris walks forward cautiously, making sure not to disturb anyone. He tiptoes through the grass, searching for any sign of him. A large shadow casts itself over him and Chris looks up to find a large bear-like creature staring at him, teeth bared for all the world to see.

'You are a stranger. What do you seek in our lands?' the bear asks, utilising the same communication methods as the shadow and the wind spirits.

"I seek my soulmate. I was told he was here," Chris says.

'Only the pure of heart may enter here. The bridge will decide your fate. Walk across it. If you are pure, it will not break. If you are lying, then it will take you to your death. Proceed,' the bear says, gesturing to the bridge behind him.

Chris sees the bridge spanning the entire width of a tall canyon, jagged rock cascading down to a large river. Chris walks towards the bridge and places a foot on it, testing it for stability. He holds onto the railings as if that would be enough to save him should he fall.

When the bridge remains intact after his first few steps, Chris becomes braver and steps a bit more confidently. The shadow's warning echoes in his head and he doesn't speed up too much. He wouldn't want to look arrogant.

The bridge takes a quarter of an hour to cross, and when Chris finally touches the other side, he breathes in deeply, relieved he hasn't been sent to his death. His knees are shaky and he's sweating like a pig, but he's crossed the bridge safely and steps onto the other side of the canyon.

"Well, let's see what else is out here," Chris says.

* * *

_He had fallen asleep in front of the TV again. He was lying there, sprawled, sleeping soundly and Chris was loathe to disturb him. In Chris' most gentle manner, he lifted his head and slipped a pillow underneath it before covering him with a blanket._

_Chris sighed and gathered the empty beer bottles up, carrying them to the bin outside. The sky was a burnt orange, and the tint suggested blood would spill that night. Chris hurried back inside and closed the door, locking it tightly. He turned back to look at him and the way he was sleeping._

_Chris switched off the TV and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Chris gently removed his glasses and set them on the table. With one final glance, Chris retired to his bed to read, his eyes ever watching his still form._

* * *

Chris doesn't find him until night has truly set in. His shadow had appeared after dusk, as he had said he would, and with his help, Chris stops wandering aimlessly and being attacked at random and begins to find some direction. They cross one final broken tree bridge and there he is, in a cage, still bound and crying and bleeding.

The cage is set upon a pedestal about 2 metres off the ground and surrounded by a terrace of concrete tiles and chaotic gardens. The path to the cage isn't readily apparent, and anything could be lurking within the plants.

'Do not approach him now. It will not be easy. You will need to fight for him. Succeed, and you both shall be freed. Fail, and you will be destroyed,' the shadow says.

"So, no pressure then," Chris mutters.

The shadow narrows its eyes at him curiously but dismisses his words. 'The tiles will save and destroy you. Stray from them at your peril. I cannot assist you further. You must do this on your own. Now, go. He is waiting for you.'

The shadow vanishes and Chris is alone again. _He's_ crouched in the cage, looking miserable. Chris takes a step forward. Nothing happens. Chris heart rate soars. He takes another step forward. The tile sinks slightly underfoot and Chris barely has time to duck before a hail of arrows comes his way. One nicks his arm, leaving a trail of blood on his skin. Chris steps back and takes a look at the wound.

"Shit. That fucking hurts. That could've killed me. Right. So the tiles might be traps. That helps," Chris mutters.

Chris looks around for a stick, something long and heavy enough to use to test the tiles before he steps on them. After a few moments, he finds one and presses it into the next tile. When it doesn't depress, Chris carefully steps over onto it and stops, working out where to go next as the tiles are all over the place now.

The wind picks up, blowing around him and chilling him to the bone. He's not sure they aren't spirits. Just as he's about to take another step, there's a low growl and a long black creature snakes out from beneath the vegetation. It crawls slowly on its short legs, hissing at him angrily.

'I sssssmell blood. A meal at lassssst,' the creature hisses.

Chris swallows. He wants to run away. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? He glances at him again. The creature advancing breaks Chris' concentration as it bites his leg, its jagged teeth tearing his flesh. Chris screams and tries to make the creature let go by smashing its skull with his stick, but to no avail.

The last blow he lands on the creature's head runs it through. Chris looks at the wound and finds he hasn't speared him with the stick. He'd speared him with, well, with a spear. The creature was silent and Chris painfully extricated his bleeding leg from its mouth. Chris falls back, the pain spiralling him towards unconsciousness. With one final cry of pain, he blacks out.

* * *

Chris is back in his house. Everything aches. Half his left leg is missing. He wonders why. He's lying on his bed, staring up at the cold ceiling. Wait, no he isn't. There's no roof anymore. All he can see is the bright blue sky and the wispy clouds.

He raises his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and notices a ring on one of his fingers. He recognises it instantly. It's his ring. Chris awkwardly sits up and slips the ring off, gazing at the tarnished gold. It's changed now. There are what look like scorch marks on it, and the ring looks battered and bruised.

Sitting up, he now sees a small piece of paper beside him, folded carefully in half. He sets the ring aside as he picks the paper up and unfolds it.

_It's your fault. It's all your fault._

Chris recognises _his_ handwriting. He'd failed. Chris scrunches the paper up and throws it away. He curls into the bed and weeps, hating himself for not even being strong enough to fight for him.

* * *

_He woke eventually, and crawled into Chris' arms as he lay on the bed. Chris held him and kissed his forehead again. Chris set his book aside, glad to have him there with him._

_"Chris?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Don't ever leave me."_

_"I won't. You'll never leave my heart, Julian."_

_Satisfied, he curled into Chris' arms and closed his eyes again. Chris stroked his hair gently and leaned his head back against the wall. If this was perfection, he never wanted it to end._


End file.
